Last night, after an evening of Extreme SoHo, I passed out on the sofa at 2am, book in one hand, cigarette in the other. Normal service has been resumed. Hurrah.
[ Things we are conveniently forgetting that would otherwise cloud this rosy picture:
1) Smoking outside in the freezing cold for four hours
2) Tramps are more frequent, madder, and have worse moisturising regimes since the smoking ban
3) That last drink in 79CXR, although the toilets now smell curiously of vanilla. Has someone opened up an ice cream stand? ]